This Side of Heaven (2 page)

FOREVER IN FICTION
^™

A special thanks to Gayle Flynn, who won Forever in Fiction at the Florida Solve Maternity Homes Auction. Gayle chose to honor her husband, Thomas Flynn, age fifty-seven, by naming him Forever in Fiction. Thomas is a personal injury attorney, a pillar in his community, a man with many friends and much integrity and faith. He and Gayle have been married thirty-four years and they have three grown children, with whom they love to vacation at their cabin in Kalkaska, Michigan.

Thomas likes collecting Native American artifacts, playing Ping-Pong, hunting, and fishing. He also likes reading fiction and particularly enjoys reading my books. Thomas is involved in a number of charities but he is particularly fond of Solve Maternity Homes, where he has served on the board of directors. Thomas’s faith is key to him and his family, and he longs for a time when he and his wife can spend much of their time traveling to places like the West Indies or Australia.

He spent his younger years employed in social work but then became involved in the Home Repair Services business—a business devoted to helping the less fortunate in various Michigan neighborhoods. He loves woodworking and bird-watching, and when he travels to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with his family, he tries to do a little of both. He enjoys slot machines, gambling for fun, and believing in miracles—not necessarily in that order.

Thomas’s character in
This Side of Heaven
is that of a godly personal injury attorney, the one who demonstrates through fiction the importance of having godly men to represent those who are wrongly injured. As always with my Forever in Fiction characters, Thomas Flynn in this fictional setting is a created person with only some resemblance to the real Thomas Flynn.

That said, I pray that Gayle sees her husband, Thomas, as deeply honored by her gift and by his placement in
This Side of Heaven
and that she will always see a bit of Thomas when she reads his name in the pages of this novel, where he will be Forever in Fiction.

For those of you who are not familiar with Forever in Fiction, it is my way of involving you, the readers, in my stories, while raising money for charities. To date, Forever in Fiction has raised more than $100,000 at charity auctions across the country. If you are interested in having a Forever in Fiction package donated to your auction, contact my assistant, Tricia Kingsbury, at [email protected]. Please write
Forever in Fiction
in the subject line. Please note that I am only able to donate a limited number of these each year. For that reason I have set a fairly high minimum bid on this package so that the maximum funds are raised for charities.

Please understand that we receive hundreds of requests for this auction item, and not all requests can be met. Even so, I look forward to learning about the people in your life, people you would like to place Forever in Fiction.

. . . For Alyssa

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

—Jeremiah 29:11

ONE

T
he pain was a living, breathing demon, pressing its claws deep into his flesh and promising never to let go, not until death had the final word. But even with every vertebra and tendon in his back aching and burning, even with how he felt prisoner to his own body, and despite the eternal relief that was bound to come with his last breath, Josh Warren was certain of one thing that cool autumn night.

He didn’t want to die.

Josh braced himself against the kitchen counter in his cramped apartment and stared at the clock. Just after midnight, early by his recent standards. His eyes blurred and battled for a moment of clarity. The problem was the meds, and whether he’d taken a double dose at ten o’clock, or at six. He leaned over his hands and tried to work up a complete breath. He drew three quick gasps, but only a fraction of his lungs offered any assistance. He was twenty-eight, but his body made him feel twice that.

“God”—he clenched his teeth and the whispered word filled his small kitchen—“I can’t take this. I can’t.”

Three years. That’s how long it had been. A hero, they labeled him. Saved the lives of two teenage girls. But where were the news crews and reporters and cameramen now? Now, when every hour was a struggle to survive.

He tightened his grip on the countertop, his arms trembling, his lungs holding steady, refusing to inhale in a futile effort to keep the demon at bay. Another quick gasp and he hung his head. For a long moment he stayed that way, willing the pain to subside. But before he felt any relief, a drop of tepid water hit his hand. A grimace tugged at his eyebrows, and for a heartbeat he wondered if a pipe had broken upstairs the way it had last month, when the fog of pain and OxyContin was so strong he didn’t notice the problem until a small stream started oozing from the plaster ceiling.

Another drop. He brushed at it as a third drop hit him, and at the same time he figured it out. He lifted his fingers to his forehead and touched a layer of wetness. No surprise there. He was sweating, his body giving way to the pain, handling the fire the only way it knew how. He wiped the back of his hand across his head and looked around.

Never mind when he’d taken the last dose. He needed more. Needed it now. He tried to straighten, but the demon weighed heavy on his shoulders, slumping him over as he shuffled toward the cupboard. He grabbed the bottle and fumbled with the lid before sliding one single pill into his palm. One pill wouldn’t be too much. He downed it with a swig of water straight from the faucet.

Sleep would come, the way it always did eventually.

But first he needed to find Cara Truman. Josh made his way to the computer, set up on a desk against the dining room wall. He pulled his chair into place and fell into it. Even then there was no relief. Sitting only intensified the pain in his lower back. He narrowed his eyes, logged in to his Facebook, and opened the instant message window— the one where Cara lived. Josh would never meet her in person. He was almost certain of that.

If he ever found his way free of the pain, he would call Becky Wheaton first, Becky who he had loved since he was fifteen. He’d heard from some of their old high school friends that her engagement had fallen through and she was single again. He thought about her constantly, but he couldn’t call her. Not until he was healthy and whole and successful—the sort of guy she deserved.

Becky would have to wait, but when no amount of meds or sleep could take the edge off his constant pain, when concerned calls from his parents and his sister didn’t bring relief, there was always Cara.

She knew him better than anyone, because she knew his story. The whole story. Even the part about his little girl on the other side of the country, the one no one else really thought was his. On late nights like this, across the invisible lines of cyberspace, he could share with Cara every crazy detail of the others, the stories that made up his life. And along the way Cara gave him a rare and priceless gift, one that kept him pushing through, battling the demon.

Cara believed him.

He studied the list of friends online, and she was there. He positioned his hands and tried to steady them as he tapped out the words.
Hey, it’s me . . . you there?

Half a minute passed and he saw that his neighbor Carl Joseph Gunner had tagged him in a few new photos. He clicked the album and for the first time that night he smiled. Carl Joseph and his girlfriend, Daisy, both had Down syndrome. They lived with roommates in separate apartments in the adjacent building and both were very independent, with jobs and the ability to use the bus lines for errands.

The photos were taken by Carl Joseph last time he and Daisy stopped by the apartment. Carl Joseph had learned how to use the timer on his camera, so the pictures showed Carl Joseph, Daisy, and Josh standing in front of his TV, his refrigerator, and his patio slider—each one with the same cheeky smiles. Josh jotted a quick thank-you to Carl Joseph, and at the same time a response came from Cara.

I stepped away for a minute but I’m back.

Josh shifted positions, trying to find a more comfortable angle.
Can’t sleep. I was hoping you were up.
Cara lived in Phoenix and she worked the swing shift at a data processing center. She usually didn’t turn in until two in the morning.

Her next message appeared in the lower window on his computer screen.
I was thinking the other day about how we almost didn’t meet. What would I have done without you?

Josh smiled and moved his fingers over the keyboard.
Glad we’ll never have to answer that. Just goes to show online poker’s worth something. Even when you lose.

The conversation came faster.
Lotta creeps play OP. You were like getting a royal flush, you know?

Josh felt the compliment in the drafty corners of his heart. He leaned back against the vinyl chair and felt his body relax a little.
Thanks, sweetie. I’m just glad we found our way out of online poker and into this.

Whatever this is.

Right.
Josh chuckled.
Whatever it is
.
Hey, I talked to Keith yesterday. He’s back with his wife . . . things are good.

Really??? I’m so happy for him!! See, J . . . Where would he be without you?

Josh felt the warmth of her words deep to the center of his soul. Keith had been his best friend since grade school, but ten years ago he’d moved to Ohio. They still stayed in touch, and Keith sometimes joined him for online poker. That’s how Cara knew him.

There was a pause in the conversation and then her next message appeared in the window.

How’s your back?

Hurts like crazy . . . let’s talk about something else. I go to court again next week.

To testify?

Yes. My lawyer says it should be the last time.

Yay! That means the settlement’s coming! And then you can go after your daughter!

Josh read the line three times before his hands began moving across the keyboard.
That’s why I wanted to talk to you tonight.

Why?

Because you make her seem like a real person. My little girl.

She is real.
Josh could hear Cara’s indignant tone through the words of her message.
You’re going to get custody of her one of these days, I just know it.

The thrill of possibility sent tingles down Josh’s arms.
Partial custody. But anything would be better than this.

She’s a lucky girl, J . . . I wish my kids had a daddy like you.

Josh stared at that part. Every time they had a conversation like this one, Josh wondered the same thing. Maybe he was wrong about never meeting her in person. Becky had probably moved on, anyway. If he and Cara got along so well, why not move their relationship from cyberspace to Phoenix? Or to Colorado Springs? Cara was a single mom of two kids—a boy and a girl. Her first husband had been abusive, and three years ago he’d moved out and found someone new. Cara found solace in online poker, and people who couldn’t hit her, people who could pretend to be anyone they wanted to be.

Two years ago Josh was caught up in an online game with Cara—aka Miss Independent—when she said something that stayed with him still. In the comment section of the game, she wrote,
I play OP because my real life is on hold.

That was exactly how Josh felt. Since the accident he’d been caught up in a web of depositions and hearings, meetings with lawyers, and waiting for workmen’s comp checks in the mail. Since then, all of life had become a waiting game.

Waiting for the pain in his back to be healed.

Waiting for a decision in the trial against the drunk driver’s insurance company.

Waiting for a chance at success so he could call Becky Wheaton and tell her he still loved her.

Waiting for his settlement money so he could pay back his parents and buy a house and take a paternity test so he could prove to all the world what he already knew: that Savannah was his daughter.

Another message appeared.
You’re quiet. What are you thinking?

Josh felt a tug on his heart.
How come you’re there and I’m here?

Yeah . . . I wonder that too sometimes.

Usually when they flirted with the possibility of taking their relationship to another level, one of them would change the subject before the conversation became too serious. But sitting in his stuffy apartment alone at one in the morning with the trial and the settlement becoming more of a reality each day, Josh suddenly couldn’t stop himself. His fingers flew across the keyboard.
Okay, seriously, Miss Independent. Why don’t we stop all this typing and find a way to hang out in person?

There was a hesitation, and Josh’s heartbeat sped up. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe this was all she’d ever be capable of, and if that was the case, then so be it. Besides, he would always love Becky, and he owed it to both of them to see if she might feel the same way about him—once he was successful. If not, if she’d moved on, then maybe Cara was someone he could love.
Come on, Cara. . . .
He closed his eyes and remembered the words of the song he’d heard recently. “
I can only imagine . . . what it will be like. . . .” God, please . . . speak to her heart. If she’s someone who could be in my life, then please . . .

He opened his eyes just as the next message came across.
You’re too good for me, J. You know that.

Who are you kidding? . . . I’m lucky just to be your friend.

Another pause, shorter this time.
Tell me again about God, about you and Him.

Disappointment stabbed at him because he really wanted to talk about the two of them. He swallowed hard. If she was going to change the subject, at least she wanted to talk about his newfound faith. He was still in pain, still sitting alone in a cheap apartment, but in the last six weeks his life had changed. He loved that Cara wanted to talk about it.

He breathed in and began typing.
I don’t know, it’s weird. My family’s been talking to me about God forever, but I guess I had to figure it out on my own.

What did it feel like . . . you know, when you heard that song and could tell God was talking to you?

Josh smiled again. He’d answered this question half a dozen times in the last six weeks, but Cara seemed to really need to understand.

He moved his hands across the keyboard faster this time.
I don’t know, I mean . . . it was like God was talking straight to my heart. Telling me that I wasn’t waiting for a settlement or a chance to see Savannah or for the next stage of my life. What I was really waiting for was Him. It was like He was calling me, and if I wanted to really live I needed to finally answer. You know? Stop running from Him and tell Him yes.

I love that.
She hesitated.
Can I tell you a secret?

Always.
He longed to hug her, put his hands on her shoulders, and look deep into her blue eyes. In lieu of that he clicked on her name in the instant message window and was instantly on her Facebook page. She had short brown hair and a narrow face. Not too tall or athletic or strikingly beautiful. A few extra pounds that drove her crazy, but the part Josh loved most was her smile. Cara’s smile had a way of staying with him.

Her message flashed into view.
I’ve been talking with God.

Online?
He grinned at his own joke.

No, silly. In my heart. When I’m looking out the window at the summer sky or when a monsoon sweeps over Phoenix and lightning dances across the street outside my apartment complex.

He read her message slowly.
You should be a writer.

I’m serious, J. You’ve changed me, your story about God. I think He’s calling me, too. I’m taking the kids to church this Sunday.

Josh raised his eyebrows.
Seriously?
In the time he’d known her, Cara had been opposed to faith and God and anything dealing with Scripture. She never quite came out and said why, but on her Facebook page she described herself as agnostic.
Not interested in faith
, she’d written. That had changed in the last few weeks, and the reason had to be Josh’s story about Wynonna and hearing God and realizing he’d been running away all this time.

Very seriously. So maybe I’ll go to church this Sunday and all the answers will suddenly fall into place . . . and you’ll get your settlement and buy a house in Scottsdale and we’ll become best friends . . . and then . . . well, and then who knows? Right, J . . . maybe all that.

His heart did a somersault.
Right.
He wasn’t sure if he should push the issue, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Maybe all that and more
.

So . . . are you feeling better?